Why Not?
by Three-eyed-mutant-meerkat
Summary: Rory has spent the first eight years of his life an outcast. Now his one hero, the mad Doctor who crashed in his backyard, will have him enchanted for twelve years until he finally comes back to give him the life he promised. Neither of them knew that there would be much more between them than a love of stars and a determination to save those in need. Doctor/Rory, Amy bashing


Why Not?

Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Doctor Who. I will not profit from this story.

Doctor POV

The TARDIS was cursing me in 5,006,792 unique languages as we corkscrewed towards Earth. Her exasperation was tangible, and with every shriek sparks were spraying from the control panel. Oh yeah, I was in the doghouse for this one. Old me really should have known better than to regenerate in here. I suppose I can't really blame him though. Some of the last vestiges of his loneliness are still bleeding through to me. Any human would be crying just from the residual emotion, but then I'm not exactly human. I'm not ginger either.

The TARDIS careened off axis and I was flung into the swimming pool in the library, now sideways. The shelves were toppling over like dominoes. Every colossal crash was merging together into a tsunami aimed directly towards me. New new face, new new skills, old old hatreds. I seemed to still hate traps, or more, being in them.

I snatched my old whaling hook (unused) from its pedestal before it could be washed away. It had enough rope to reach the door of the TARDIS, but there was a less than .0002% chance of me throwing it that far, even with my new face's less than scrawny-ness. I didn't exactly have time to explore my newest visage but it's hard not to notice the millions of new muscular cells in places where there used to be zilch. Unless you're human. Humans miss a lot. They would probably even miss how by changing the composition of a portion of the pool within a confined space for which the only exit was plugged by my hook the sudden pressure increase would fling the hook and rope just in time for me to feel the spray of the first wave tickle my feet as I climbed.

Rory POV

I honestly thought the wall was trying to kill me.

"Oh, brilliant Rory, just brilliant. No friends, no Mum, absent Dad, crap school, and now the crack in your wall is talking to you. "

I really needed to drop the habit of muttering to myself.

The talking to myself thing started after my only friend, Amelia, decided that a scrawny, nerdy fag like me was not worth associating with. I'm fairly academically advanced for my eight years and when I learned what the word gay meant I got used to the idea pretty quickly. Not to say I advertised it, I'm not suicidal. People just assumed. Correctly. I suppose my lesser stature doesn't help, nor my constantly fluffy hair. Most people never realize hair can stick straight up. They've just never seen me first thing in the morning.

So, ostracized, next-to-orphaned, and now going insane. Thank goodness I can reach the kettle. My Mum always told me a good cup of tea can solve anything.

The stairs sent ups little puffs of dust as I tromped down them in my favorite red boots. That meant Dad was gone again. I was almost glad. He was very uncomfortable with the rumors flying around about me, and with a demanding job he had every excuse to ignore me. I had learned in the past 2 years to be self-sufficient. That included the art of a good cuppa. Sometimes it felt like the kitchen was actually my bedroom, what with the number of nights I'd fallen asleep there.

I had to stand on tippy toe to reach the stove and put on the kettle. Yet another portion of my curse. As I had finally settled on chamomile a resounding crash echoed from the back yard. The kettle smashed to the ground.

Ever since I was little I have wanted to help people who are hurt, and ever since I couldn't help Mum I always have carried a first aid kit. Thus the irony in not having it the one time it may have been useful. My curiosity left me no time to run and retrieve it. I raced out the back door and prayed it wasn't anything too dangerous.

Apparently, there is no God, as I was immediately confronted with a large metal grappling hook to the forehead.

Doctor POV

Climbing out of a pool in a library is not something I expected to need to do again after the incident with the reenactment of Moby Dick. Less expected was my craving for apples. Even less expected was poking my head up over the rim of the TARDIS to find a tiny human with a bleeding bump on his forehead, passed out next to where my hook had snagged on a tree root. That was not a good way to start a new face.

I hoisted the tiny human into my arms and quickly brought him into the house, where I laid him on the couch. I didn't remember humans being so small, even at the age of 8 like this one was. You can always tell how old a human is by the number of freckles.

The house was wrong. All the cleaning was below the height of 3.5 feet, roughly the height of comfortable reach for the boy. There were no pictures on the walls. The only shoes on the wall were the ones that would fit the boy. Thousands of small clues, smaller even than those generalizations painted a picture of this family. Or what was left of it.

The tiny human groaned gently and I leaned over him to check his eyes. They popped open and I hopped back when he gave a fittingly tiny squeak of terror.

"Um, w-who are you?" asked my Tiny Human. Ooh, not good. They only get names if I'm going to want them as a companion. This one is too young for the stars.

"Name's the Doctor. Do you need anything for your head? I'm a little rusty on my human first aid but something tells me you would be able to direct me."

"M-my kit is up in my room but y-you don't want to go in there."

This perked my interest. Rooms were safe havens. What would cause my Tiny Human to not see it that way anymore?

"Why would you say that?"

"Because of the crack in my wall."


End file.
